Chapter Text
It was a normal day in Danville—by Danville's standards at least. Phineas and Ferb had created the day's project, Candace tried to bust them, and their mom inevitably failed to catch them doing anything bustable. There were deviations of course, in fact this time there were more than usual, which is why the Flynn-Fletchers were still awake at Klimpaloon knows how early in the morning.
"You know, I've always found it weird that people say to hum Happy Birthday when you brush your teeth," Phineas remarked to his brother who was currently doing exactly that—the brushing teeth part; he wasn't humming Happy Birthday or anything—it's a copyrighted song. The triangular boy continued, "they say humming the song is a good way to measure the amount of time it takes to finish brushing, but Happy Birthday is a song of variable length. If your name is Josh or Steve, the song would be pretty short, but if your name is Rexilamonalidamiusonly, singing the song through would take a really long time. Whose birthday are we celebrating anyway?"
Ferb pointed to the mascot on the tube of toothpaste.
"Of course!"
Candace entered the bathroom and shoved Phineas out of the way. "Watch it, nitwit, just because our circadian rhythms are out of whack doesn't mean I don't need my beauty sleep."
"In hindsight maybe we shouldn't have built The World's Biggest Pillow Fort out of The Comfiest Mattresses Ever," the talkative boy replied.
"Ya think?" the teen huffed, "the bed was so comfortable that I was practically asleep, and I would have actually slept well if Buford wasn't eating those peas right below the bedding. One got under the cushions and no matter how many pillows I piled, I was still able to feel it through the mattress. At least I was able to get some rest."
"Yeah, that's the lavender-infusing for you," Phineas replied .
"Whatever—get out of my way; I need the mirror to do my hair," the girl fumed.
"I thought you were getting ready for bed," the triangular kid prodded.
"I am; I'm just brushing my hair before I wash it, after which I'll brush it again and then dry it before I give it one final round of brushing and go to bed so that my hair is well moisturized for when I do it all again when I wake up," Candace explained.
"Okay—you do you," Phineas said, closing the washing machine and grabbing fresh socks from the dryer while Ferb spat out his toothpaste as his teeth were squeaky clean.
"Finally," the teen girl sighed, "I think it's time that I finally got a taste of some personal space."
"You know, I've always wondered what space tasted like," the red-haired boy remarked.
"Well, according to recent astronomical findings, the gas cloud Sagittarius B2 possesses a significant presence of the compound ethyl formate, a chemical which supposedly tastes like raspberries,” the European explained.
”Hey, Ferb—I know what we’re gonna do tod—“
Candace put a finger right over the mouth of her brother’s weirdly triangular face. “Nope. We are not doing this right now,” she protested.
”We were actually just about to l—“
”Nuh-uh, I need to look good for my upcoming date. I don’t have time to bust you t—“
The door slammed politely shut.
"Oh, they're gone," the girl exclaimed, "I better start brushing now if I want to look good at that Parisian cafe with Jeremy later." Candace gushed dreamily, "Oh Paris," she sighed, "that city is just so calm and peaceful."
Meanwhile in Paris…
”It’s terrible!” cried the mother clutching her children in her arms.
“It’s horrendous!” screamed the little boy hiding behind the mailbox.
”It’s atrocious!” shrieked the old lady, fainting despite her full-body cast being confined to a wheelchair.
“Come on, guys, my haircut is not that bad,” said the young man. “Just ask the supervillain standing behind me—there’s a supervillain standing behind me!”
”Your haircut still looks bad, by the way,” said the supervillain standing behind him.
“Ah man!”